


May the Winds Blow 'Til They Have Wake'd Death

by Ripuku



Category: Dishonored
Genre: F/M, Gen, I'M PREE MUCH THE WORST, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW, oh man, sads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripuku/pseuds/Ripuku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you do if you had the chance to do it all again? What would you change? What would change because of you? Are you brave enough to find out, Corvo?</p>
            </blockquote>





	May the Winds Blow 'Til They Have Wake'd Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NeverwinterThistle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/gifts).



> A fic written originally for the Kink meme, and made into a trade with NeverwinterThistle, who volunteered a happier fic to counteract the feels I knew I was going to create.

"What would you give? To save her?" Came the Outsider's voice from the dim light. 

Corvo's chains rattled as he moved his arms to grip tightly at the bars, staring out at the deity from his cell. He winced at the sound of a rat's shrill shriek and the metal scraping the stones of the floor. A guard passed by in the next hall, but seemed unaware of the Outsider's presence, his standard issue boots clicking on the floor in a steady, even staccato. Corvo's eyes traveled back from the direction of the guard to stare at the other. The Outsider looked out of place. Not only because the shadows around him seemed to bend in on themselves, as if being swallowed by some greater darkness, but he was clean and perfectly formed and his clothes were whole and unmarked.

What would he give? What would he give to leave this place, leave his guilt for his failure behind, so that he might have a chance to make things the way the should have been? So that he could let loose the breath he feels he's been holding since that awful day and to never let anyone suffer in this dead, suffocating place? 

The hollow void in his chest screamed to be filled, howled at him silently to let the grief take him to his knees and tear him open from the inside. Instead, he built a fortress of his unshed tears and locked himself inside, so that his feelings would not betray him into accepting responsibility for the blade that had spilled Jessamine's blood.

His voice, raw and hoarse from screaming through torture after torture, echoed with conviction in the silent hall.

"Everything."

The Outsider smiled, and the world suddenly seemed to churn under him. As his view faded to black, he heard the Outsider again.

"Very well then. I expect a good show."

Light. Bright light. He threw up an arm to shield his face and found himself blinking in the thin Gristol sun, standing in the back of a small boat headed toward the tower. Neither of the men with him seemed to notice his sudden discomfort or bewilderment. It worked. 

It worked.

His heart plummeted, knowing what was coming. How the guards would slip away and the assassins would come leaping over the rooftops, moving with their unnatural abilities, avoiding his blade and his gun. He knew where to step and where not to step now, so perhaps he could stop them this time. He knew he wouldn't survive if he succeeded in preventing Jessamine's death. But it would be better that way. Had to be better that way. 

And Emily. Dear sweet Emily, practically his daughter in every way. She was going to run up to him, asking about whales and his trip and beg for hide and seek and he...

There was no way he could deny her. Not with what he knew was coming. It would make her happy and she so deserved to be happy. He owed her that much at least, so that she could hold memories of him that weren't stained in the color red and the smell of metal and gunpowder.

As the boat lifted higher in the lock, Corvo's heart sank lower. He scarcely heard the noise of the machines and men around him, his pulse thudding in his ears. He rushed out of the lockhouse, brushing past Geoff, ignoring his grumbled protestations, stepping out onto the bridge where he knew he'd hear-

“Corvo!”

He knelt, and she ran to him, as he knew she would. He lifted her from her feet, spinning with her once and smiling sadly at her squeal of delight. She kissed his cheek as he hugged her and set her down.

“Did you see any whales?” she asked him brightly. She loved the mighty leviathans more than any other creature she'd learned about. He smiled indulgently, and told her that he had, ignoring the pang in his heart at how he lied, just to see her smile. He wanted to remember that smile more than anything. 

“Let's play hide and seek! You've got time! Mother's still talking to that nasty old Spymaster.”

“Of course, Emily. Let's go play for a moment then.”

She giggled, running ahead. He followed, just on her heels, listening to her delighted chatter and realized just how much he'd missed it. He stopped beside her at the bottom of the steps to the lower courtyard, smiling.

“Okay, you hide, and I'll count, Corvo!” she hide her face and began counting.

Last time they had played, he'd hidden too well and she hadn't found him. This time, he'd let her win. He tucked himself behind a panel that he knew she'd look behind eventually. She took a moment, but when she found him, he grabbed her up and tickled her, making her squeal and laugh.

“Yay, I won! You're getting rusty, Corvo!”

“It must have been those six months away from hide and seek champion of the Isles.” 

“You're silly, Corvo. Come on, let's go see mother.” 

He followed her back up the steps, past Sokolov and the rat-bastard Campbell. He waited outside the pavilion, watching with a set jaw and clenched fists as Jessamine spoke and subsequently dismissed Burrows. The Spymaster smirked at Corvo as he passed.  
“Ah, Corvo-”

“Two days early, I know.” he interrupted, his voice flat with the effort of restraining the urge to slit Burrow's throat right there, “I'm just full of surprises.” 

Burrows looked appropriately shocked and hurried away, muttering. Corvo let him go, ascending the smooth marble stairs to Jessamine's side. He gave her the letter and immediately turned away, glaring out over the rooftop where he knew the assassins would come from. Perhaps if they knew he could see them and was watching, they would stay away.

He drew his gun anyhow.

They came. But Corvo had relived the moment in prison long enough to see where they would be and when they were most vulnerable. He spun away from their attacks, waiting for them to disappear and reappear, shooting in that vulnerable second after they had fully manifested. When the next assassin- the one who would hold him helpless- appeared, he fired his gun as soon as the man lifted his arms and sent him flying back with blood blooming red over his shirt. 

He turned, pistol up to aim it at the face of the maskless assassin. The shock was as open and plain on his face as the determined rage was on Corvo's. Neither moved for a long second, the assassin clearly calculating his next move. Corvo knew his gun was empty now, but held it steady all the same and pulled the trigger.

The hammer clicked on the empty chamber, the sound shattering the momentary silence. Both of them were a blur in the next moment, blades flashing in the dying sunlight, the edges of their swords sharp and hungry for blood. The assassin fought like a man with nothing left to lose; Corvo already knew everything he would lose if he failed. Together they danced in the pavilion, their blades coming together in a symphony of struggles against their fates, the crashing of their blades creating a melody over the steady rhythm of their footwork. The deadly, sorrowful song came to a howling crescendo as Corvo was the first to misstep in their dance. 

The push of the blade as it slid through him forced him back a half step, forcing a sharp breath from him for a quiet rest in the music. He looked down, transfixed at the impossible amount of blade buried in his flesh and time seemed to slow for an instant. The next moments were muddled and awful, for as the assassin drew back his blade, it felt as though Corvo's very life was being dragged out with it. In the end, it would let go of neither, stretched between him and the sword. Corvo may have screamed as the blade was withdrawn, he couldn't remember anything except lashing out at the assassin in a fury, spurred back to their dance by his adrenaline and his refusal to fail again. 

His blade met flesh, striking hard and spattering the white marble with a spray of red, the thunk and hiss an invasive percussive. The assassin backpedaled swiftly, clutching his shoulder as his blade fell to the stone with a chime. Corvo made to move toward him, intending to finish him off, but the assassin disappeared the way he had come. Corvo roared across the space between the pavilion and the rooftop, "COWARD!"

The world tipped sideways and his legs felt weak. He pressed a hand to his stomach and felt an unmistakable wetness there. His palm was stained shiny red with his own thick, hot blood, soaking through both shirt and coat to drip into a steadily growing puddle beneath his feet. The music ended with the dissonant and echoing sound of his body striking the stone. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, everything hurt. Hurt so badly that he couldn't stop the whine escaping from between his lips. How pathetic. He went through six months of torture in Coldridge with nary a peep, but one little stab wound and he was crying like a child. 

He became dimly aware of Jessamine's hands upon his face, pushing his hair back and trying to smooth it down, "Corvo? Corvo, hold on, please. They're bringing help. Corvo, look at me." 

Corvo tried to take a shuddering breath and gargled blood instead, coughing it up over his chin. His arm moved and he slowly realized that it was Emily grabbing hold of his coat and shaking, trying to keep him awake, tears staining her cheeks, "Corvo, don't go!" 

Corvo looked up, trying to focus on them, but it was like trying to fight through an unrelenting spring fog. Jessamine's hands shook as she pressed them over the wound, trying in vain to staunch the blood. He made another wheezing whine, the noise feeling torn out of him. He lifted his leaden arms, wishing he didn't feel so cold and took her hands away. 

"No, Jessamine." he gasped out. He swallowed hard as another wave of pain rolled through him like a crashing wave in a storm and tasted blood, "It's no use." 

Jessamine shook her head, "No, Corvo, I refuse to believe that there isn't hope for you. You'll be FINE, do you hear me? I am your Empress-" her voice broke and so did his heart, "-and you will obey me."

He smiled through the pain, not really hearing anymore, "I've seen the future where it was you and not me. It's better this way." 

Corvo reached up, trying with trembling fingers to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear without smearing blood over her face, but she took his hand in both of hers and pressed it to her cheek as she wept. 

"Jessamine, I..." he was having greater trouble breathing now, "I d-don't want you...want you to be sad." he coughed more blood and felt cold, "We knew this might happen...All part of the risks...m-my love...." 

Emily was wailing and everything seemed to be smothered in the sound of rushing water. The cold sensation was fading, as was his vision. He gathered enough breath to whisper Jessamine's name and his hand slipped from hers. 

There was no more pain after that. 

~*~*~

The funeral was a strange affair. It seemed that Jessamine had put her foot down for a boat funeral, combining the traditions of sea burial and cremation, as well as keeping it out of the Overseer's Abbey. Which was just as well, considering the Outsider's influence over the entirety of the events of days past. 

Corvo wished someone knew more about dying and the afterlife at that point, waking up somewhat attached to his body still was disorienting and not what he expected of death. Watching his own funeral was not something he'd ever expected to experience as well.

It was...oddly elegant in a way. His body had been placed upon a plinth in the gazebo where he'd saved Jessamine and Emily for the main service of the funeral. (He'd have loved to throttle whoever had thought that was a good idea.) He had been dressed in his uniform, head to toe in all his decoration, sword in his clasped hands, pistol at his hip. Funny how only in death did his hair behave, neatly combed and arranged. Wreaths and bouquets of flowers from people he'd never seen in his life covered every available space in and around the pavilion, people stepping up to pay their respects, thanking him for his service to the empress, even though it had only been his job. They couldn't hear them, but he thanked each one for their words for him.

It was the speeches that he couldn't handle. Speeches from the men who had arranged the event that had led him so many places he'd rather have not seen, forced him to experience such torment, such anguish. And had now forced him to his death. He'd have done it a thousand times, and died a thousand deaths for Jessamine and Emily, but it didn't stop him from wishing a little that none of it had had to happen. He sat through their hollow speeches and accepted their empty words, for what else could he do except bear it, just as he had for all of his life in Gristol?

It was Jessamine's speech that made him wish his words could be heard. She spoke so highly of him, too highly, in his opinion. He didn't deserve so much for his sacrifice. Anyone in his position ought rightfully have done the same. He longed to comfort her, to see her smile. Outwardly, the Empress was the picture of composure, her words steady, her voice strong. Corvo knew better. He'd worked at her side for too long not to know better. He could see her grief written into the lines of her shoulders, in her eyes, the way her hands tightened and loosened over and over. Once upon a time he would have laid his hands upon her shoulders and gently rubbed the strain away, left a little slack in the tension that wrung her out so.

Now, his hands were folded over his chest, never to do so again.

When the speeches were through, four members of the royal guard carried the litter bearing his body down from the pavilion to the shore and waiting boat. Jessamine and Emily followed, laying their own bouquets in the boat with him, and the assembly stood back to allow them a moment alone. 

Emily reached over to hold her mother's hand, “It's okay, mother. I know what Corvo would say if he were here.”

Corvo laughed silently with Jessamine as Emily screwed up her face and in the best impression of him she could muster said, “Really, your majesty, this is far too much, and the security is a nightmare.” Jessamine wiped away her tears and Emily tucked a drawing of the three of them onto the pyre, stepping back as an Overseer handed Jessamine a brightly burning torch.

It was then that Corvo realized that he wasn't alone on the pyre.

“Hello, Corvo.”

The Outsider had joined him, looking as uninterested as ever, watching the proceedings quietly. 

“Come to watch the fun then?” Corvo watched Jessamine hesitate a moment, then take the torch.

“There is no fun to be had here, Corvo. Not for me, not for the conspirators, not for the men who might have used you to gain their own power had the Empress died. No fun at all. You've made sure of that.”

“Then why did you let me do it?”

“I underestimated your will, it seems.”

“Are you going to change it back then?”

“No. That would be tedious.”

Corvo looked away from the flickering torch to meet the Outsider's unyielding gaze. “Why did you come?”

“Should I not come to see the results of my involvement?”

Corvo swept one arm to encompass the scene, “It's a funeral.”

“Yes. How droll.”

Corvo sighed, the torch touched kindling and the pyre went up, surrounding him and the Outsider in licking tongues of flame. The Outsider seemed unconcerned, staying put as the boat was pushed onto the water. The sun was dipping below the horizon and the water was darkening with the sky, the waves lapping at the side of the boat as if waiting to devour it. Corvo thought it somewhat appropriate. 

Off in the distance, a haunting sound began. Corvo turned to face the source of the otherworldly melody and saw whales, perhaps a dozen of them, surfacing to sing. 

“Are they mourning?”

The Outsider shook his head. “No. They do not mourn you. They mourn a you that could have been. What you would have become had you not turned back and said no to fate. You would have been magnificent, Corvo, all singular purpose and design. But now you are not, and so they mourn.”

“What now then?” Corvo sighed softly.

The Outsider stood, extending a hand as the flames roared around them, “Now? Now you will rest, and the world will continue on without you in its monotonous way until someone else has the decency to be the least bit remarkable. You will go to places I'll not ever see, bound for a shore I cannot set foot upon.”

Corvo stood with him, taking his hand. As he did, the flames roared higher, painted now in eerie black and purple hues, encompassing all of the boat and spreading over the water like spilled oil. The people on the shore screamed and pointed and the Outsider turned to smile wickedly at them. Several men, Burrows and Campbell included, Corvo noted, fell to the ground, howling with mad fear. One Overseer removed his mask, staring at the boat for a moment, before laughing.

Corvo looked at the Outsider, “What did you do?”

The Outsider turned the wicked smile upon him, though it softened visibly. He lifted Corvo from the boat, leading him back to the Void.

“Consider it....a gift.”

~*~*~

Stories would spread through Gristol about how I took Corvo Attano for my own in a whirlwind of purple, cursed flames, and how the man had been clearly cursed. 

Jessamine and Emily could only recall seeing a dark eyed man taking Corvo on to rest, and how Corvo had almost smiled at the end of it.

Hiram Burrows, Thaddeus Campbell, and several others fell raving mad at the sight of the flames, admitting later to a plot to kill the empress. All were arrested and executed for their crimes.

The Overseer who had laughed so boldly in the face of the fire, one Teague Martin, was promoted to High Overseer after Campbell's arrest. He would have tried to take the position through other methods, had the assassination gone as planned.

The highest impact, I think, of this new decision, was made upon the assassin, Daud. After his failure, he refused to take the job again, instead finding where his blade might best be put to use. You won't have to worry about Empress Jessamine's safety, Corvo, she's well protected, even if she doesn't even know it.

You're off somewhere far away from them all now, Corvo, in a world only the dead know. Soon they will join you there, and I and the world will continue on forever. You would have made a marvelous distraction, my dear, but you made your choice, and even I cannot unmake that.


End file.
